


surrender on both sides

by noahfronsenburg



Series: but what of the hound? [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Gaping, Background Relationships, Banter, Begging, Clothed Sex, Desk Sex, Disabled Character, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Loyalty, M/M, May/December Relationship, Moral Ambiguity, Overstimulation, Political Alliances, Politics, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rimming, Service Top, Size Kink, Varis/Regula To Be Precise, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfronsenburg/pseuds/noahfronsenburg
Summary: “I am no man’s slave, Legatus, and not given to begging for scraps at any table. I have been sent, Sir, to address a need—one which you yourself declared—and to assist you, in whatever capacity I may, in order to allow this meeting to proceed without unavoidable dismay or disaster."





	surrender on both sides

**Author's Note:**

> there is like, something probably about c.80k+ to the rest of this au and i am working on it. but i wrote this porny bit first because this au also exists to fuel my one and only hyperfixation.
> 
> so anyway, uh. porn! i'll be back sometime soonish to give the rest of it i hope ksjdhsdf
> 
> title from sax rohmer #1 by the mountain goats

Frankly, Alphinaud had almost enjoyed the brief respite granted to Eorzea for a year-and-some-months while Gaius van Baelsar (ostensibly too weak to stand) had been called away to Garlemald, his energy tied up in the War of Succession. With Gaius out of the picture, Eorzea’s fair share of hardship, disaster, and general trouble had certainly not ceased, but at least it had been not Garlean-shaped.

Nothing could last forever.

Gaius was back, and Alphinaud, over his strenuous disagreements, had been recalled from assisting in the hunt for Bismarck. Minfilia met him in the Solar, Tataru running out past him holding a stack of letters ready to go straight to the Postmoogle Deputy—who, if the Warrior of Light was telling the truth, had been convinced into taking on the extra work by sugarcoating it with the title of Chief Spy Letter Carrier.

“Whatever is so vital that you felt the need to recall me across the continent?” Alphinaud asked, the moment the door shut. “I had hoped to see the exercise with Bismarck through. Is it really safe to have me running around?” After all, Alisaie had gone entirely to ground—how easy would it be for people to forget she had taken credit for the Crystal Braves and their revolution, standing in her brother’s stead?

“Gaius van Baelsar announced his return last night to the Alliance in person, since the Viceroy was...indisposed,” Minfilia replied. “He has returned to the command tower in Castrum Centri, and requested the immediate convening of the Alliance, since the whale problem has rather sidetracked the Viceroy for the foreseeable future.” Alphinaud made a face. “There is little to be said for misinterpreting his summons, as he gave his reasons clearly at the first: newly crowned Emperor Varis zos Galvus and his favored Legatus, Regula van Hydrus, along with the better part of the VIth legion, sail for Eorzea upon the _Gration_ , an _Agrius_ -class Dreadnought, and will be arriving in some ten days time.”

Alphinaud stared at her.

“Shit,” he said.

“Precisely,” Minfilia agreed. “Thus why we need you here. His letter mentioned need of a translator; I’ve no doubt that Varis and Regula are perfectly capable in Eorzean Common, but it is the principle of the matter, as it presents the Alliance as almost a sister-state, rather than a vassal. Normally, the Viceroy would take the position, given the Echo, however...”

“Whale,” Alphinaud sighed. “You want me, then, to take the role? And play third party at the bargaining table?”

“I should hope it plays out with better temper than that, but yes. I dare not attend; the risk is too great—there is none finer in Eorzea I trust to act in my stead.” From Minfilia, that was a great deal of praise. “As a graduate of the Studium, a Sharlayan _and_ the grandson of Louisoix Leveilleur, you are perhaps the best equipped to be upon even footing—you even present the possible veneer of neutrality. You have the official titles which I lack, and fluency without the Echo besides.” Minfilia hesitated, as if chewing over whether or not to continue. “In addition...on previous occasions I have asked Cid after the Legatus’ character. According to Cid, Gaius van Baelsar is a man predisposed to softness toward young, brilliant minds, especially ones he finds capable of surprising him. If you are able to win him over, I would have you make yourself indispensable to him.”

“A bodyguard? I am not cut of the cloth for that.”

“No.” Minfilia’s face clouded. “While the Legatus remained in Garlemald, we did not _need_ the Warrior of Light to share everything he said and did; intercepting it all was simple enough. With his return, he will likey expect, if not the full loyalty of the Alliance at least some measure of obeisance. Secondhand reports, even delayed by a few days, could ruin us.

“I need a spy, Alphinaud. And I can think of no-one better.”

Alphinaud pressed his fingers to his chin; weighed his options before nodding. “Very well. However loathe I am to abandon our men in the field I am of more use to all and sundry here; I shall see if Alisaie will not go and join the Warrior of Light and Estinien anon. Chances are, she would be of far more use than I.” He glanced down at himself and his clothes, which certainly did not inspire _competence_. “If you wish me to prove myself a gift not worth squandering, I shall need new clothes.” He glanced at Minfilia; gave her a half-smile. “If you wish me to make myself his right hand and your eyes and ears in the same move, Antecedent, I can only rush to obey. It is my duty both as Scion—and as your friend.”

Minfilia smiled at him in return—a rare look on her face of late. She had grown tired and worn these last few months he had been away, unable to return until but recently. It was not lost on Alphinaud that, perhaps, they were lucky indeed that Gaius’ return had been delayed enough that she could recall him for it. “I thank you, Alphinaud. It means more than I can say.”

 

 

Between Tataru’s design ideas and the Weaver’s Guild, Alphinaud found himself outfitted by the end of the day, and sent a message to the XIVth through Raubhan while waiting for the new cothes. It was therefore upon the following morning that he arrived via airship at Castrum Centri, the view two hundred fulms above the ground a far cry from that which he was used to, walking past on foot through Mor Dhona.

As a diplomatic guest, he was shown through the halls—identical cermet, steel, and carbon—by a Centurio, standing in for (the once-again absent) Nero tol Scaeva. Alphinaud took the opportunity to make small talk, learning what he could of the Legatus’ return to Eorzea. He had arrived, Alphinaud was able to glean, five days before, and had taken the first three needed to settle the affairs that had shifted in his absence, including a call for suggestions for promotion to fill all the open Tribuni positions in the legion, left to languish during his time away from the front lines. His health, it seemed, was well recovered and he, at least to the Centurio’s somewhat optimistic guess, was much pleased with the change of leadership in the Homeland that he had helped see to fruition.

Gaius had apparently been rewarded for his efforts in Eorzea and promoted to High Legatus: a change in title that was entirely official, as the remnants of the VIIth legion had been part and parcel of the operations of the XIVth for a full five years.

When they arrived at the Legatus’ private office it was not, as Alphinaud had expected, ostentatious to prove a point: he had been prepared for something like the Admiral’s office atop Limsa Lominsa, with sprawling windows and vaulted ceilings. In size Gaius’ was somewhat smaller, a narrower room in a side-tower, with slits for light set throughout. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in maps—everything from a floor-by-floor breakdown of Castrum Centri to what _appeared_ to be a rolling map that had Eorzea before and after the Calamity, markers gathering dust to hold where the Legion had been arrayed shortly before Operation Archon. The room was otherwise clean of dust despite more than a year of disuse, the floor swept spotless.

Other than that there was a mannequin—no doubt to hold his armor when removed—a weapons rack, several different Magitek transmitters that Alphinaud could only begin to guess at the purposes of, a _camp bed_ folded back into one corner, as if in embarrassment at its presence, two extra pairs of boots tucked beneath the mannequin, and a desk, behind which was a single chair.

It was quite a large desk, but utilitarian in every possible way, not designed for awe but simply for use. The top was covered in papers, a six-tiered in-and-outbox that Alphinaud immediately disliked the look of as being _far_ too complicated for anybody’s good, Garlemald-make fountain pens in inkwells, stamps, signature pads, _more_ maps, a stack of books the spines of which he could not see, and like as not more drawers than anybody could ever need for anything, but were likely stuffed full to bursting with the paraphernalia of office of a man who now oversaw the running of an entire continent and four different countries within it.

Gaius himself was currently standing at the desk, rather than sitting, _Heirsbane_ on the weapons rack by the wall. He was otherwise in full uniform, leaning one side of his hip against the top of the desk as he read. Left alone with him, Alphinaud stopped about ten feet before his desk, and waited, watching, taking the time to patiently get a better read on the man as best he could through the helmet.

They had “met”, if it could even be called that, once before, when Gaius had arrived with the Ultima Weapon after Garuda’s defeat. They had not spoken, nor had Alphinaud even gotten a particularly good look at him from a distance, but they _had_ seen one another. Or, at least, Alphinaud had seen Gaius; whether or not Gaius had seen him was yet to be revealed. There were some subtle differences—for one thing, the ceruleum cannon that had been upon Gaius’ left forearm was gone, replaced by some kind of a metal splint that seemed to be connected to his vambraces. That was the only visible acquiescence to the injuries he had taken in the Praetorium, for otherwise, he stood comfortably at a military parade rest, his right hand folded behind his back as he read.

Gaius took his time with whatever he was doing, no doubt to make Alphinaud distracted or complacent, but he had been prepared for it, and so instead remained at ease, studying the walls, trying to learn from it. All he was able to glean was much of what he had already known before: Gaius van Baelsar was a man who left very little to chance, held more details in his head than most people could learn in all their lives, was exacting to a fault, and had _no idea how to delegate_.

“So,” Gaius said at last, not lowering the paper he was reading, “You are the boy who nearly saw my downfall.”

“May I have the Viceroy to thank for inflating my reputation?” He replied, keeping his voice airy, not revealing any surprise at Gaius’ opening volley. “I fear his penchant for the dramatic has spoken of me too highly; all I did was put into motion a plan. The Grand Companies and the Viceroy must take all the credit for pulling it off.”

“Nevertheless, a surprising amount of insight and talent for that age. There are very few boys of six-and-ten who can count conquering a full legion of Garlemald amongst their accomplishments.” Gaius lowered the paper at last, and flattened it into the top of his desk.

Alphinaud realized, belatedly, that it was what appeared to be a copy of his transcript from Studium.

“I will admit, I did not expect to have the Flame General put your name forth as envoy. I was surprised by his willingness to give me that kind of a bargaining chip.”

“I am a far cry from a child; my nineteenth nameday is near six months past, and it has been some time since Operation Archon.” Alphinaud raised his eyebrows. “I believe we may both count ourselves changed. General Aldynn would not have put forth my name were he not certain I was capable of the challenge.”

“You entered the Sharlayan Studium at eleven?” Gaius continued as if he had not even spoke. “And you studied law, arcanima, and politics there.”

“You have my transcript before you, Sir, I should think you better equipped to know the certainties of my classes and grades than I, seven years out.” Gaius flattened his hand atop it, without otherwise moving. “As Louisoix Leveilleur’s grandson, I was presented with certain expectations from the time I could speak. It is a blessing that my own talents and interests run parallel, rather than counter, to them.” He shifted seamlessly to Garlean, continuing, “I had originally intended to assist in peace talks, if such a thing was possible, during the time leading up to the Calamity. After the withdrawal of the remnants of the VIIth and the XIVth, I continued my studies, in hopes to help prevent further tragedy.”

Gaius did not rise to the bait: he stuck to Common. “You are quite capable in my mother tongue, although your accent leaves something to be desired.”

“Then I must needs polish it,” Alphinaud agreed. “I am the best the Alliance has to offer for your needs. I was but recently with the Viceroy in the Sea of Clouds, and the trouble with Bismarck seems not liable to sort itself out anytime soon. Things being as they are, it may be weeks before he is able to return to Eorzea.”

“Pity,” Gaius said, without any in his voice. “And so they send me men who went to war as children, to gentle the hand that throws scraps.”

Alphinaud bristled. “Nay,” he said, his voice iron. “They sent you a prodigy and scholar. I speak Hingashi, Doman, Garlean, Common Eorzean, and Sharlayan, with more than a little familiarity in Thavnarian as well. My sister and I graduated with higher marks from Studium than any in a generation. I am an accomplished student of arcanima, and, as you yourself admitted, no mean tactical mind.

“I am no man’s slave, Legatus, and not given to begging for scraps at _any_ table. I have been sent, _Sir_ , to address a need—one which you yourself declared—and to assist you, in whatever capacity I may, in order to allow this meeting to proceed without unavoidable dismay or disaster. I am a man grown, Sir, and capable of making my own decisions. I accepted this assignment from the Alliance to serve Eorzea to the best of my capabilities.”

Gaius said nothing, just stared at him, and Alphinaud’s patience snapped.

“Indeed,” he continued, “I should think you _wanted_ Eorzea to provide you with a man capable of being sure that these negotiations do not fall to chaos. I have no doubt _you_ have just equal a vested interest in preferring the Emperor not find himself learning of too great the detail of Eorzea’s myriad minor disasters as does the Alliance. I must apologize, _Sir_ , but I find your attempts to prove my capability and worth both tawdry and puerile.”

Into the ensuing silence, Gaius barked a laugh. “I cannot fault spirit. You have the skills, Master Leveilleur, and a mind to match. That you would serve a master you find unwanted proves it would be done in your best capacity, but you are right to expect my treatment as an equal, and not a slave. It is long past such time as Eorzea was treated as an equal upon the world stage, and _I_ am not a man given to blush at blind loyalty.”

Then he did something surprising.

Gaius reached up, took hold of the base of his helmet, and in a single smooth motion, pulled it off and set it atop the desk. Alphinaud stared, for whatever he had been expecting—it was not this.

He knew Cid and Lucia well, and had met Nero during the matter of the Crystal Tower. They, and the pureblood Garleans who had come infrequently to Sharlayan, had all been of somewhat of the same stock of blond, blue-eyed, pale-skinned Garlean, somehow seemingly ageless.

Gaius was none of those things.

He was in late middle age—almost sixty, if Alphinaud remembered correctly—with dark skin, mottled somewhat around his square jaw and high cheekbones with the still-fading remains of healing burn scars. He had neatly-cropped, slicked-back hair of so dark a brown it was close to black, streaked widely with steely grey, and eyes of a yellow so pale they looked nearly _white_. He had not shaved that morning, or likely the night before either, and had stubble, still mostly black, coming in on his cheeks and chin. He had a surprising number of smile lines round his mouth; crows feet bracketing his eyes. His brow was heavy, but he was not glaring—he was _focused_ , slightly hooded eyes watching Alphinaud as if trying to slot together pieces of a puzzle.

“Let us then speak as equals,” Gaius said, and without the modulation of whatever magitek made him audible through the helmet, his voice was deeper, rougher. There was smoke damage there, in the weary, hazy edges to his consonants. His accent was slightly stronger, but more than anything he was almost _gentler_ without the helmet, his voice made softer and more heated. More real. A soft grit, not unlike fresh-churned Shroud loam.

Alphinaud realized all-too-belatedly that Gaius van Baelsar was a _very_ handsome man.

 

 

Given nine days to prepare for what was _arguably_ the most important two hours of conversation in the last full Astral Era, Alphinaud had his work cut out for him. Much of it he spent at Gaius’ side, usually not far from his right elbow, as the other man passed on a deluge of information that filled in color on the sketches that were Alphinaud’s knowledge of Garlemald and its politics. He went from being _knowledgable_ about Garlemald to being _an expert_ in less than a fortnight, all the while relaying every possible bit of information he could to Minfilia and the Alliance often through completely separate channels. The rest of his time was flitting back and forth from City-State to City-State, his ability to Teleport almost more indispensable than his actual skills, gathering the intentions of the Eorzean Alliance at no less than _three dozen_ different meetings, ironing out those specific demands, discussion topics, and allowances. And that was before the guest list, which Alphinaud oversaw and then delivered to Gaius for his approval.

It quickly became clear that he had a functional rapport with the Legatus. Gaius, for his initial distance as he gauged Alphinaud’s capabilities and intensions, very quickly recognized that, when his mind was put to it, Alphinaud could move mountains. Thank the Twelve for that. Once he did so, the needs Gaius had for Alphinaud’s eyes started to double, until Alphinaud had to learn to use magitek communicators so the other man could call him on while he was off dealing with the other side of the arrangements.

In the end, a neutral location was chosen: rather than the Lotus Stand, the Fragrant Chamber, or the Admiral’s office, their guests would arrive at Castrum Centri and disembark from the _Gration_ there, in order to avoid any potential disaster should the remnants of Niddhog’s brood try to recreate the disaster of the Battle of Silvertear Skies. They would then take an XIVth airship overland to Limsa Lominsa, in order to see as near to the full of Aldenard from the air as possible, where they would dine at the _Bismarck,_ partaking of the best of Eorzean cuisine. Afterward, the entire Garlean contingent would join with the Eorzean Alliance and travel to Costa del Sol, where the actual summit would be held, as it was near enough to a lawless state to count.

Alphinaud had not shared with anyone, but he was privately far less worried about the Emperor and his favorite being ill at ease amongst the Eorzeans. Garleans, it seemed, could adapt to nearly anything—including the literal _Void_ , if Nero was any indication. Instead, he was far more worried about the Alliance leaders being ready to start a war at the first given opportunity. Alphinaud had briefly considered asking Merlwyb to refrain from attendance and send the Storm Marshal in her stead, but the fact that setting Mistbeard without any checks and balances before the Emperor of Garlemald could backfire _spectacularly_ was not lost on him.

In the end, Alphinaud came to the conclusion that he was just going to have to fervently pray that everyone would more or less behave themselves. And, if not, at least Merlwyb would start the war by simply shooting someone and being done with it, and _that_ he could not mistranslate.

Alphinaud slept the final night in a guest room at Castrum Centri, and rose well before the dawn to shower and dress and prepare. He had nearly two-hundred sheets of various assorted information that Gaius had practically tossed at him and told him to bring along, and he’d not yet had a chance to finish sorting into _what they might actually need_ and _what Gaius figured they might actually need because he was very poor at delegating._

Neither of them spoke when they met at the airship dock when the _Gration_ arrived, Gaius’ arms crossed in what Alphinaud was quickly learning to recognize was not his way of telegraphing frustration, but rather deep thought, Alphinaud’s body thrumming faintly with nervous energy. There was always the minor possibility that everything that he had done was for nought and this would go completely arse-over-teakettle, and it was for that reason that he would have killed to have the Warrior of Light in residence. The Warrior of Light who, according to what he’d last heard, was busily _playing tug of war with a whale_ , so if things went tits-up they were bloody well on their own.

When the _Gration_ ’s gangplank lowered, Alphinaud straightened, and then, when footsteps came down it and Gaius dropped to a knee, did the same. He rose, just a moment behind the other man, firmly in place as an indispensable: he stood in the place where, had Gaius had a competent Tribunus, Nero was supposed to stand. Instead, Alphinaud had inserted himself firmly into the man’s confidence, without even a hesitant blink.

Given the alternative, Alphinaud could hardly blame him.

“van Baelsar,” Varis zos Galvus was, like most Garleans, handsome; but in a distant, cold way. He was nearly a head taller than Gaius himself was, with a narrow, gaunt face and hooded eyes, his hair, gone almost entirely to white, worn long and braided back from his forehead. His armor, Alphinaud felt, looked terribly uncomfortable; his crown absurd. “You have been well since returning?”

“Warmer air has done my lungs good, Your Radiance.” Gaius replied, as another Legatus appeared, stepping off of the _Gration_ to join Varis. There was no undue deference in this man’s stance; he was as comfortable beside Varis as any pair of lovers Alphinaud had ever seen. “The humidity does indeed make a difference, as the Praefectus Medicorum surmised.” The Legatus standing in the Emperor’s shadow was staring at Alphinaud. “Our itinerary remains the same, unless you wish to make any stops or to survey the Castri.”

“I have little interest in either,” Varis replied, a faint note of disinterested exhaustion in his voice. “The sooner this ‘summit’ is over, the better. I dislike this lawless land.” His lips pursed, he glanced away from Gaius, turned to Alphinaud. “You said the Viceroy was unavailable, and even so, I should hope he is not nearly a child. Who is this boy?”

“The Viceroy has been waylaid by a matter of some import in Abalathia’s Spine,” Gaius replied, and Alphinaud commended the man for finding a tactful way of saying _he’s punching a whale_. “In his place, the Alliance recommended Alphinaud Leveilleur, who has taken it upon himself to serve as translator for the summit.”

Alphinaud bowed. “Your Radiance; My Lord Legatus.”

“Louisoix’s...grandson?” The Legatus had a sharper, slightly more nasal, voice than either Varis or Gaius did. It was modulated by his helm as he spoke, but even still it was slightly higher, closer to tenor than baritone. “Eorzea offers children, now, rather than any capable fighter? I thought this Viceroy of yours could serve the position equally well.”

How Gaius managed to not sound frustrated was impressive. “He could, were he not presently needed in supervising the removal of a Primal from this star. I believe we are all in agreement when it comes to that being a matter that cannot be left unattended.”

Alphinaud cleared his throat, and all three men glanced once more in his direction. “My Lord,” Alphinaud said, looking to Regula van Hydrus, “I am an Elezen, Sir, and I have yet near to a decade and some before I will be finished growing. I may yet be a man young in years, but you do not need to expect me incapable of doing the job which I have been assigned; were I anything less than certain in my abilities I would have refused it. I am no child, and serve Eorzea in no less a capacity than you do Garlemald.”

Regula’s helmet was unreadable. “van Baelsar?”

Gaius straightened, his arms folded behind his back—relaxed, now. “Master Leveilleur knows more of these lands, their inhabitants, and political foibles than I could hope to learn in two lifetimes. He is the mind behind Operation Archon, and a trusted member of the inner circle of the Eorzean Alliance.”

Both of the other men now turned to stare at Alphinaud, and he wondered, as they took a new measure of him, what look Gaius was wearing right now. Had that been _pride_ in his voice; as if he was bragging about the exploits of a particularly capable equal?

Would wonders never cease.

 

 

Afterward, Alphinaud could not really remember half of what happened or was said at the summit. Translating for seven different people amongst taking meeting minutes at a frantic pace, carefully steering conversation away from potential disasters at every turn, reiterating the narrative that had kept the Viceroy trapped in Ishgard and unavailable to attend, finding ways to play down the continued existence of Cid Garlond as a free agent (not to mention the _Scions_ ), was enough to leave his head spinning.

When farewells had at last been bid, the parties splitting their respective ways, Alphinaud promised the notes to the Alliance as soon as possible before following in the Emperor’s retreating wake.

The return journey was quieter than the way out had been; wine and exhaustion in equal measure had began to numb all their members. Regula and Varis spoke too lowly between themselves for Alphinaud to catch, Gaius silent and absorbed in his own thoughts, the bodyguards a non-presence at the doors. The second leg was much the same as the first, and they arrived at Castrum Centri late enough that Varis summarily bid good evening and returned to the _Gration_ , Regula his constant shadow.

Alphinaud yawned, following Gaius back to his office. “May I impress upon your hospitality for some coffee from the commissary?” He asked, shuffling his papers, coming over to the desk and starting to sort the stacks into some semblance of order. “I fear I have a long night ahead of me, ere I be able to call my work on this summit complete.”

“In a moment,” Gaius agreed, taking his helmet off and setting it aside before he joined Alphinaud at the desk, sorting through the longhand sheets he had set aside. “How much is transcribed?”

“Near to a third. The remainder is the more complex sections, and I find that mayhaps my hand ran too fast for my thoughts in some places. For those in particular I should like your eyes to check for corrections before I pass it on to the Alliance.” Gaius made a quiet noise of agreement and put the papers down. “Coffee?” Alphinaud asked again.

Gaius did not reply for a moment longer, and then, he set one hand on Alphinaud’s shoulder, waited for him to look up. “Thank you,” he said, holding Alphinaud’s eyes with his. “Your diplomacy today saved us a great deal of strife.”

“I merely did my job, Sir. One which is not yet finished.” Alphinaud tapped the desk. “The night is early yet. I should be able to make significant progress, unless you have further need of me?”

They stared at each other, in a sudden silence that was both fraught and hesitant, narrow-threaded and thrumming. “I do,” Gaius replied at last, voice dry.  
  
One of them shifted closer. Alphinaud was unsure which.  
  
Gaius ducked his head, just enough for Alphinaud to read his intentions, and stopped. “Should you be willing,” he added, voice a hopeful murmur, and Alphinaud took a half-step closer, closed the gap—set his hand against the base of Gaius’ stomach, beneath the bottom of his breastplate, leaned up on his toes to bridge the ilms that remained between them, and kissed him.

It was merely a kiss, nothing more, raspy with both their stubble, their lips dry and mouths closed, Alphinaud’s nose tucked into the lee of Gaius’. The hand Gaius had set on his shoulder slid down, anchored at the small of his back, and Alphinaud leaned into the heat of the touch, let Gaius pull him up and closer and into the next kiss as his fingers anchored around the Legatus’ gunbelt.

The second kiss was _not_ merely a kiss. It was a little bit like the fugue pressure of dropsy, hot and searching and hungry. Somewhere into the fourth kiss, Alphinaud realized that Gaius van Baelsar kissed like he conquered, and he was not much averse to the concept of being a spoil. He was, in fact, quite amenable to _this_ particular variety of it, and made a soft noise in the back of his throat, grabbed at Gaius’ sleeve with his other hand, pulled him closer, rocked up into him.

“Am I to take that as a yes?” Gaius asked when they breathed, a laugh bubbling in the back of his voice, low and hoarse in his throat.

In return, Alphinaud bit his lower lip hard enough to sting, and got in return for his efforts a noise not unlike what Gaius might have sounded like if punched in the chest. “Yes,” he said, just for clarity’s sake. “Gods, yes.” Gaius’ grip at the small of his back tightened, rumbled in pleasure. With little preamble, he hefted Alphinaud up, as if he weighed nothing at all, and dumped him onto the desk, breaking their kiss.

The sheer power of the act, the thrill of being so easily thrown about, left Alphinaud breathless. “You have,” he pointed out, as he shoved the toe of one boot into the heel of the other and wiggled it free, kicking them both off onto the floor, “A camp bed.”

“I am aware,” Gaius agreed, taking one of Alphinaud’s hands and _pulling his glove off with his teeth_ , “I also have a bedroom.” Alphinaud dragged him back for another kiss, this one searing. It certainly stymied Alphinaud’s work of trying to fumble his jacket of, because Gaius pulled him forward by the tie into the next one. There was something about the physicality of it, the strength Gaius flexed in every motion, that sent his cock throbbing hopefully, as if to say, _do that to me more_. “I want you here.”

When Alphinaud could think again, he whispered, “Hells.” He hurried further to get his jacket off. “In armor?”

“Unless you’ve some objection,” Gaius pulled him into another kiss, and somehow in there got the ribbon out of the base of his braid. No doubt intentionally. Alphinaud pulled his tie free, unbuttoned his collar halfway, glad for any ease to his breathing when he had so little breath left that had not been stolen by the heat. “I’ve little interest in standing here struggling out of it for half a bell when—“

“Fine,” Alphinaud laughed, catching Gaius hand as he pulled it back, sucking two of his still-gauntleted fingers into his mouth. Gaius made That Noise again, the one like he’d just had all the air rush from his lungs, and his pupils were blown wide enough that Alphinaud could hardly tell where his pale irises ended and the whites of his eyes began. “Get those off,” he added, a moment later, pulling back, and Gaius fumbled to do as he had been ordered, starting on the brace on his left arm while Alphinaud finished pulling his hair free, pocketing the clasp and undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Do you have something for lubrication?”

Rather than reply, mouth busy undoing some part of the clasp of his vambraces, Gaius used his left hand to open the top drawer on the desk and pulled out a bottle of linseed oil. Alphinaud set it aside, finished pulling his shirt off over his head, and barely had enough time to get his arms free before Gaius was kissing him again, vambraces forgotten utterly. The cold metal of his gloves brushed the base of Alphinaud’s stomach, and he jumped, reflexively inhaling.

“Get those _off_ ,” Alphinaud snapped, Gaius grunting agreement and proceeding to not do it at all, instead pressing him back onto the desk further, kissing a hot line down the side of his chest. When he stopped at Alphinaud’s nipple it was to run his teeth over the tip enough times that Alphinaud was losing the battle to not make a wet, ugly noise in the back of his throat, his erection uncomfortably hard where it was trapped in the fly of his trousers.

When Gaius bit down, Alphinaud dropped his head back on his shoulders and muttered, unseeing, his heartbeat loud in his ears and every ilm of his skin on fire, “You are _not_ helping.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Gaius absolutely did not mean it for he did it again, hard enough Alphinaud yelped, grabbed reflexively at the back of the other man’s neck, fingers scraping through the fine hairs there. “Should I stop?”

“ _No_ ,” Alphinaud moaned, and kissed him again for a long enough distraction to get his trousers off, fumbling one-handed with his fly while he held tight to Gaius’ neck with the other, pulled the older man over him, let Gaius’ greater weight flatten him back against the desktop. Their size difference, how easily Gaius could box him in, was driving him near to madness.

Gaius shoved Alphinaud’s papers of the side, no doubt to get more room, and Alphinaud hissed. “Respectfully, Sir, if you make a mess of my notes, you can make friends with your hand.”

“Respectfully, Master Leveilleur, at this precise moment I find I don’t much care for making a mess of anything but you.”

Honestly, _honestly_ , Alphinaud was starting to understand where Nero had gotten many of his most annoying habits from. Apparently, they were all just copied from his commanding officer, who was (finally) getting his damn gauntlets off, prizing off the back of his vambraces and setting them aside, tugging the bottom bracket of his gauntlets off just when Alphinaud lifted his hips enough to slide out of his trousers and smallclothes, kick them both to the ground to be nude but for his stockings.

Gaius froze, hand halfway to his mouth again, staring at Alphinaud with those blown-wide eyes. It was cold enough in the office that, naked, Alphinaud’s nipples hardened to peaks, and he could feel gooseflesh raising the hairs on his forearms and the center of his sternum. His erection was aching hard and hot between his thighs, arched up toward the base of his stomach, sweat matting flat the hair at its base. His entrance throbbed, clenching reflexively, arousal making him impatient. Alphinaud shifted, lifting one leg up and planting his heel on the edge of the desk, revealing the hollow between his thighs beneath his balls, and watched the other man’s throat bob as he swallowed, unable to look away.

Alphinaud uncapped the oil, watching Gaius’ face in near as much hunger as the other man was watching the juncture of his legs, and spread his thighs further. He coated two fingers and reached around to his entrance, bit his lower lip as he found the right angle. Usually he did this laying down, but it wasn’t too difficult as he was no novice, and two fingers slid in with the ease of long practice. He slid a third finger in a moment later in order to chase the ache of the stretch, and leaned back on his free elbow, gasping for breath at the way the pressure made the base of his stomach twist.

Gaius had not moved. He was just staring, face flushed and eyes wide. Finally, he finished pulling off one glove, almost mechanically, barely remembered the other, tossed them both aside. With his hands bared, Alphinaud drank in the sight of another few ilms of skin: carefully trimmed nails, hands rough with callouses so old they were nearly white in some places, the left mottled with healed burn scars from where it had been dosed in ceruleum and caught aflame, the webbed tissue stretched awkwardly across his knuckles.

Gaius reached for Alphinaud with his right, brushed the back of his knuckles over the bottom of his thigh, rucking the hair in reverse, and pushed his leg further back to get a better look. Alphinaud obliged, biting back a whimper as the changes in angle made his fingers shift deeper, pulling out on his rim with his fingertips. Any chill he had felt was totally forgotten, lost completely in the moment of their contact. Gaius’ broad palm was burning against his skin, and Alphinaud fumbled after a moment for more oil, impatient and desperately aroused, slid four fingers home, turning his hand to fit them up to the knuckle.

His cock throbbed at it, once, dripped pre onto his stomach. Gaius’ hand slid further up, behind his knee, forcing his leg back until Alphinaud’s knee was almost behind his ear. He whined, watching the other man’s face as he remained entranced—panting open-mouthed—by the tableaux. His knuckles kept bumping against his rim, and when it became not enough Alphinaud sighed, turned slightly sideways to give Gaius a better look, set his hand atop the one below his knee to hold his leg up himself. “Are you planning on any assistance here, Sir, or am I to do all the work and you get all the praise?” Gaius glanced up, met Alphinaud’s eyes, and he raised his brows at the other man. “Or had you forgotten two of my fingers hardly equal one of yours?”

It took a moment for Gaius to get his mouth wet enough to speak. “I,” Gaius replied, deep voice cracking rough with arousal, “Had not,” and Alphinaud abruptly realized Gaius was riveted as much by their difference in size as Alphinaud himself was. He hitched his leg slightly further back, planted his other heel against Gaius’ solid thigh above his pauldrons, and pressed the open bottle into the other man’s better hand. He did not even need to say anything; Gaius took it, slicked two fingers, and without waiting for Alphinaud to pull his hand free, slid them home with such ease it was like they belonged.

Alphinaud's breath caught in his lungs, and he bit down on his lower lip as his toes curled. “Oh,” he whispered, at the sudden stretch, almost too much right away, their fingers together inside of him something new he had never even _considered_ before. He shut his eyes and whined, clenching down to feel the weight of them splitting him open. Gaius curled his fingers upward, too, pressed flat along the underside of his cock, until he nudged Alphinaud’s prostate and he bit back another, louder moan.

“Please,” Gaius whispered, leaning over him, biting at his open mouth even as the angle made his fingers slide deeper, “Please, I want to hear you.” He flattened his other hand over Alphinaud’s hip, and Gaius’ palm was broad enough to cover the entire arch of that side of Alphinaud’s pelvis and then stretch almost to the base of his cock, fingers curled around to his back. If he’d wanted to, he could have circled Alphinaud’s waist with his hands. He could have crushed Alphinaud by weight alone.

The next time Gaius curled his fingers upward, pressing at his prostate, Alphinaud moaned into his open mouth, hot and hopeful and wanting. “Gods, fuck me,” he panted, voice cracking. “Either give me another or fuck me—“ Gaius laughed, that smoky, fire-blackened laugh, pulled his fingers free, Alpinaud’s coming out right after. Without them, he felt wide and empty, his hole reflexively clenching down, waiting, _wanting_.

“Impatience,” Gaius chided, and Alphinaud rolled his eyes as the other man fumbled with his uniform for a moment, cursing under his breath as he undid the buttons of the fly of his trousers, pulled out the cup and tossed it back onto his chair, tugged free his cock.

Whatever snide reply Alphinaud had been about to put voice to died on the tip of his tongue as he went silent. The sight of Gaius, hand still slick with oil, stroking his length—a length that was without any doubt thicker around than Alphinaud’s entire _hand_ , longer than anything else he’d ever taken, uncut, the head dripping from a broad slit, flushed and damp with arousal, vein throbbing along the underside—did what nothing had managed all day: it made Alphinaud stop thinking. Instead, he made a strangled noise low in his throat that he could not have imitated or recreated if he had tried, _desperately_ wanting.

“Oh,” Alphinaud whispered, cheeks burning, hand holding his knee up sliding down his thigh, his other grasping at Gaius’ sleeve, uncaring of the mess he’d be leaving behind: if Gaius wanted to fuck in uniform, the consequences were his and his alone. Alphinaud bit the top of his tongue, tried (and failed) to steady his breathing, swallowed around the dry lump of arousal in his throat. “Bloody hells,” he added, a moment later, softer. Gaius was watching him, patient, silent, holding himself steady even though he was clearly practically vibrating with arousal, waiting—waiting for Alphinaud’s permission.

It was rather sweet, if in a sort of perverse fashion.

“Yes,” he added, hastily after the moment stretched too long. “Now, right now, you need to fuck me—“ He pulled himself open with his fingertips, dragged Gaius back over to kiss him again, scrabbled at the muscle beneath the cloth of his coat and _desperately_ wanted to dig his nails into it when he felt the head of the other man’s cock press against his entrance. Gods it was—it was so _impossibly_ wide already, even with plenty of oil, even with Alphinaud stretched wider than he ever had before, he had a moment of fear that it would be too much, that he would be unable, when all he wanted was this, to choke on it.

And then Gaius’ thumb pressed against his rim, gauging distance, and he pushed in. Alphinaud breathed out, relaxing, pushing back, shutting his eyes to focus on the sensations, their foreheads pressed together. He had a moment of jarring, agonizing impossibility as his rim stretched, and then Gaius was _in_ , and the world narrowed down to that, _just_ that, just that and nothing else, the inferno inside of him. Far away he was panting, keening low in his throat. No pain, just simple stretch and pleasure, and he clenched down reflexively against the head of Gaius’ cock to see what would happen, to feel the girth still yet to come—got a broken whine in his ear in return, a noise so antithetical to his expectations that Alphinaud did it again, twice more, and Gaius pulled him down by his hips, fucked deeper faster than Alphinaud had been ready for, the slide of it making him cry out.

“Fuck,” Gaius whispered, bowed over his chest, panting into the hollow of Alphinaud’s collarbones even as he clutched, helpless, at the back of the other man’s neck, digging crescents into his skin. Neither of them could move, let alone _think_. “ _Fuck_ , you’re tight. Gods, please tell me this isn’t—“

Alphinaud laughed. “Do not,” he replied, his annoyance leeched by his arousal, his entire body a taut bowstring, breathing forgotten, his fingers tingling with pins-and-needles as his heart beat too fast, “Even _begin_ with that; I’m not a child and you are a _mite_ too late for it regardless.” Gaius grunted, bit his collarbone in rebuke.

“I _meant_ ,” he corrected, “That I was trying not to hurt you.”

Alphinaud weighed his options and then picked the most forward: he curled his legs around Gaius’ waist, pressed his heels to the top of the other man’s ass, and pushed himself the rest of the way down his cock, going from halfway to home in a single slick movement. He cried out immediately, gasping at the pressure, his world narrowed down to the point of their joining. “No,” Alphinaud moaned, dragging at Gaius’ hair, “Not hurting me—gods, no, fuck you.” He gasped, hardly able to think as he processed being so full. “Please,” he added, and then gave up attempting to talk entirely, just kissing Gaius in desperation, clenching down around his cock, riding this high of _fullness_ , the incredible pressure that seemed to have changed the fundamental alignment of his entire body. In that single moment, that long hard push home, Gaius had filled him further than he’d ever been, pressed almost _too_ deep, and it was—

Alphinaud had never felt like this, never with anyone, any _thing_. With every breath all he could feel was Gaius’ cock, spanning him so wide that all Alphinaud could think was he would probably be able to slide his whole hand inside himself after they were done, once he was left loose and aching. He was already certain it would hurt to walk in the morning, that he would be wincing with every step and thinking of _this_ : the sheer power that rose in him at having Gaius van Baelsar begging hoarsely into the hollow of his throat to please, it was so tight, let him move.

“Yes,” Alphinaud rolled his hips, riding that length again, “Yes, Sir, you may—“ and Gaius made that broken choking noise again, held him by the hips and pulled out, barely at all. When Gaius pushed back, somehow deeper, Alphinaud saw _stars_ , crying out, head pressed back against the desk and staring unseeing, at the distant ceiling.

Gaius’ cock was so thick and their size difference such that every press, every push, unavoidably dragged against Alphinaud’s prostate; even just sitting still the pressure was such that Alphinaud felt the depth of it behind his lungs, fingers white-knuckled from shocks that were striking nerves that were not prepared for the onslaught.

At the next thrust, Alphinaud shouted, giving up all pretense as the head of Gaius’ cock reached resistance again and pushed on something deep inside him until it gave way. Alphinaud choked on the noise that came unwillingly from within him, gulping air, as his own erection spurted pre. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes, his cock weeping, and Alphinaud was certain as he gagged on nothing that this was not—was _not_ —meant to feel so like dying; that he was meant to so love dying. They found a pace, Gaius hitting that impossible depth again with every motion, hilting himself in Alphinaud’s body until Alphinaud was mewling, commanding between each thrust to do it again, chasing that indescribable stoppered-full feeling, like he could feel Gaius’ dick halfway up his spine, the head about to fuck out the back of his throat. Every time Gaius pulled out, the resulting emptiness was enough to make Alphinaud drag him back until the head of his cock was rearranging Alphinaud’s ass again, the opening not forced as much as _begged._

“ _Permittere_ ,” Gaius begged, _asking permission_ , “Alphinaud—you’re so tight—I need—” Alphinaud brushed the hair off of his face, scraped nails through his stubble, kissed him to taste the shape of the other man’s moans.

“You like that, Sir?” Alphinaud asked into Gaius’ mouth, his whisper low and broken from every ragged scream their fucking had already wrung out of him. “You like how tight I am when you fuck me, Sir?”

“ _Si_ ,” Gaius whimpered, “ _Amabo te_ ,” and came, panting into Alphinaud’s open mouth, pushed as deep as he could go and then _deeper_ , Alphinaud’s vision gone blank and his heart a pounding drumbeat. The pressure within him from Gaius rutting into his high reached such a peak he could do nothing but cry, the line between pain and pleasure long-erased. He had to shut his eyes when they began to burn from lack of blinking, whimper a wet sob into Gaius’ hair, claw at the back of his neck from his own nearness.

“Gaius,” Alphinaud grunted, after the other man just became too heavy to keep laying on him, his hips starting to ache from the angle and his cock so hard it _burned_ from weeping, “It is considered rude to leave a man hanging.” He got that hoarse laugh again, and Gaius kissed him, gentling the hold on his hips.

“I find myself loathe to leave,” Gaius murmured, his voice so worn-out it rumbled in his chest. When he pulled free, Alphinaud could feel how sore he was, wheezing at the puffy, aching feeling of his overstretched rim. The other man shifted away, and Alphinaud immediately missed the heat of him, the weight, the metallic scent of his hair and the musk of his sweat. Gaius did not go far, kissing his way back down Alphinaud’s chest, thumbs digging into his nipples like he’d clearly wanted to before, grinding and then pinching until Alphinaud was sure they would be sore in the morning too, before moving down, and down, and down.

Gaius van Baelsar knelt at his feet, and Alphinaud realized, abruptly, just how close he was to coming from that image alone. Gaius looked up at him with the strangest expression on his face—open and raw, pale eyes hazy with the afterglow. “Better angle next time,” he murmured, and the _next time_ made Alphinaud’s breath hitch as Gaius coaxed his knees down off of the desk, hooked the over his shoulders. The brush of his fingers against the shaft of his cock, knuckles beneath his glans, was not nearly enough friction, but whatever Alphinaud had been expecting—Gaius’ mouth on his prick, that had seemed most likely—was burned out of him a moment later when the other man spread his cheeks, scraped his teeth over Alphinaud’s ballsack, drawn up tight and hard and _aching_ , and licked a stripe over his entrance.

Alphinaud dropped his head back onto the desk hard enough his ears rang. “Oh.” Gaius did it again. “I hadn’t expected that.”

“I was discourteous,” Gaius replied, voice rumbling into his rim, and Alphinaud had to dig his nails into his palms until it hurt to keep from coming untouched like that. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

“Very well,” he managed, after a moment, his voice high and cracking on the word like he was five years younger. Any chance he could have had to feel embarrassed by the matter was gone as soon as it had come, for the next thing Gaius did was scrape his teeth over Alphinaud’s rim, and the pounding in his ears reached the level of cannonfire.

“A respectable man,” Gaius said, in such a tone of voice near enough to sent Alphinaud into hysterics—how _could_ the man be so serious at this, of all times, so utterly uncompromising in his position, “Cleans up his messes. Literally.”

“Oh, Gods,” Alphinaud laughed, breathless and manic, and then Gaius stuck his tongue in him, and whatever other thoughts he had been composing stopped both being composed and stopped being thoughts.

Gaius ate him out with such thoroughness that Alphinaud came on his mouth alone, gasping and moaning as he stumbled into that pleasure, only to find the man not _stopping,_ pulling him back down and closer as he arched in the throes of his peak. He clawed at the top of Gaius’ head, tried to untie his tongue to tell him it was too much too fast, but nothing came out except for a ragged, “Don’t stop,” and Gaius _did not_. He tackled his task with enthusiasm and focus and the ease of long practice, using his fingers to draw Alphinaud open, to lap his own seed out of Alphinaud’s loose hole, and—

 _Oh, that fucking concept_. That concept was enough to ratchet him back up, so close again, and—

“Yes,” Alphinaud hissed between his teeth, so close that his very bones felt the ache of it, drawing Gaius back, his erection unflagging, throbbing, stripes of his own cum already painting the base of his stomach, “Yes, keep doing that,” the teeth on his rim kept knocking the breath from his lungs, Gaius’ stubble burning his thighs almost as good, a counterpoint of lightning sparks against the deluge against his nerves.

“Say my name,” Gaius gasped, when he stopped to breathe, nosing just behind Alphinaud’s heavy balls with pressure that only added to the cacophony that was deafening him, biting at the tender inside of his thigh to make his legs jump. “Let me hear you say it when you come.”

This time, when he went back, Gaius sucked on his rim, gentle bites against the helpless clenching of the muscle, trying, it felt like, to draw the heart out of him, licking up inside him like Gaius was trying to drink him dry. The noises Gaius made—the fact that the man was _on his knees_ eating Alphinaud out like he was a feast, moaning almost as loud as he had when he came—

“Gaius,” Alphinaud sobbed the man’s name. This was zealous euphoria, ragged adulation, _need_ and _want_ for the man, “Gaius—“ his toes curling in his socks so tight his foot cramped, his hips arching up off of the desk even as Gaius held him down, pulled him closer, _moaned_ into him— “ _Gaius—_ “ Alphinaud’s voice cracked, crying out, sobbing and keening an ugly, shattered wail as he came again, a second time, too hard, so hard he could not breathe, not even had he wanted to, not even had he tried.

 

 

In the aftermath, all he’d managed to do was press his trembling, numb fingertips to Gaius’ chin when he’d tried to go in for a kiss and mutter “No.” Gaius had laughed, his voice even more ruined, and vanished, leaving Alphinaud sprawled supine, feet kicked up on the seat of the chair, completely exhausted. There had to be an en-suite—he could hear water running in the distance—and eventually Gaius returned, his face washed, and when he kissed Alphinaud’s unresisting mouth, his tongue tasted faintly of mint.

“There,” he murmured, drawing his hand down the slope of Alphinaud’s shoulder. “Let me get you a cloth.”

“Mmm,” Alphinaud disagreed. “Not yet; I like your spend on my thighs.” There was that noise again, that sound like he’d reached in past Gaius’ defenses and punched him in the diaphragm. It lost none of its impact after the act, and Alphinaud filed that sound away for later, to chase the taste of. “I’ll move in a bit.” Apparently assuaged, Gaius left, and Alphinaud watched through half-hooded eyes as the Legatus went to remove his armor, one piece at a time, unhooking his pauldrons and then struggling free of his gorget. Alphinaud finally coerced himself into sitting up about the point that Gaius had started fussing with the lower part of his breastplate.

Alphinaud managed fine until he got both feet on the ground, leaned his entire weight onto his legs, and immediately winced in pain, grimacing at the ache in his hips. The backs of his hipbones were _definitely_ bruised; his thighs tender from too much stretching, and his entrance was the good kind of over-used sore that followed a bout of enthusiastic sex. Albeit a little _too_ loose and sore, because it felt like he could no longer close, thanks, no doubt, to Gaius. He _would_ be the sort of man who had been naturally endowed and was well aware of the fact.

He must have made some kind of a noise, because Gaius stopped what he was doing, looked over. “Sore,” Alphinaud explained, waving a hand at the other man to ignore him, and bent down on his shaky legs to snag his smallclothes where they were tangled in his discarded trousers, fished his shirt out of the mess they’d made of clothes and armor.

Even just bending he found he was clenching unintentionally, his legs trembling from the strain, and he stood up mostly with the hand he had on the desk, wincing again. He walked awkwardly, getting his balance back, and took a moment to find the door to the ensuite, which Gaius had helpfully left open, a cloth beside the sink.

It wasn’t until Alphinaud stopped to clean between his thighs and almost by accident slid three fingers into his puffy, abused rim, that he realized just how loose he was, fucked-open and raw and aching. He really _couldn’t_ close, open enough that even when he clenched down his rim was still not tight around the tip of one finger. It made the pit of his stomach twist; arousal bubbling at the back of his throat. It was enough that Alphinaud had to stop thinking too much about it, or he was going to work himself back up again, and they had other things to do tonight.

Even if he did _very_ much want to go back and pin Gaius to his chair and—

Gaius, in all likelihood, would not be able to get it up again _anyway_.

In the end, he tugged his smallclothes back on, washed his face and chest, and fixed his shirt against the chill as the sweat on his skin started to dry. Out in the office, the door opened, a quiet conversation ensued, and the door closed again, so that by the time Alphinaud emerged, somewhat put back together, there were two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Thank the Twelve,” Alphinaud sighed, coming over to the desk, which Gaius had _mostly_ put back together, even if Alphinaud’s notes were in a somewhat haphazard stack, shoved halfway back into their folder—he was relieved the other man hadn’t tried to sort them.

“You never mentioned what you take in it, so I left cream and sugar.” Alphinaud reached for the cream and added some, then added six spoonfuls of sugar. “Disgusting,” Gaius added, muttering it half under his breath and into the rim of his own mug. Alphinaud ignored him, took a taste, and then added three more spoonfuls. “That _cannot_ be good for you.”

“Hydaelyn’s largest nectar pelican,” Alphinaud replied, turning back to the other man. “You shall just have to live with it, regardless of if you like it or not.”

Gaius was watching him; chin on his fist, eyes hooded and gold as the sunrise. He had taken off almost all his armor in the time it took Alphinaud to clean up. Without it, he looked—

He was smiling, and Alphinaud took a moment to study him. The undershirt he wore beneath his gambeson was black carbonweave, high-collared to protect his throat from he chill of his helmet, and it was thin and tight enough that it revealed just how broad Gaius’ chest actually _was_ , the stretch around his shoulders making the cloth taut. He had rolled the sleeves up, and Alphinaud could see more of the scarring on his left forearm; ropy, mottled burns that reached just past his elbow, healed shiny and slick. He looked far more comfortable—understandably so—but simultaneously more vulnerable than Alphinaud had been expecting. The affect of his dishabille, Alphinaud able to see the rise and fall of his chest clearly for the first time, was only enhanced by the fact that his stubble was even more obvious like this and his hair was scattered loose over his forehead.

More vulnerable than Alphinaud had been ready for. He took a sip of his coffee to cover the softness at the corners of his mouth.

He took his notes and went over to join Gaius, hopped up onto the recently-cleaned desktop, hooked his knees beneath him and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Pass me the Castra reports,” Gaius asked, as they settled into their respective tasks, a comfortable silence falling between them as they worked.

“I have an additional one for that stack,” Alphinaud said, when they had grown focused enough in their own work for him to have stretched his legs out, planted them on Gaius’ lap, and the other man had reached down, started to rub at the smalls of his arches with the lazy, distracted touch of someone not paying attention to what they were doing.

“Mmm?”

“A second chair, if not a second desk, is needed. My arse cannot take a regular buggering and sit atop a table afterward. I need somewhere proper to work.”

“Oh,” Gaius said softly, and there was a strange tone to his voice—almost wistful—that made Alphinaud look up. He could not help but notice Gaius biting on the posted cap of his pen as he worked, or the cowlick at the right side of his hairline that made his hair stick straight up. The sheer affect of that simple mundanity had on Alphinaud, the strange clenching crush in his chest, was such that he could only describe it as _intimacy_. “I expected your tenure to be short-lived.”

“Do you have need of me?” Alphinaud raised his brows as Gaius’ hand stilled against his foot, a heavy weight atop his ankle. “I serve Eorzea, and there is a need. I had not intended this to be a temporary alliance.”

Alphinaud was not entirely sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t for Gaius to slide closer, pull him off the desk, and kiss him so thoroughly that it took the entire thing for Alphinaud to realize he’d mashed the still-damp ink of his notes into his chest midway through.

 

 

Revenant’s Toll was practically devoid of life when Alphinaud teleported in, late enough it was officially early, his head heavy with the cotton fog of exhaustion only overwork could bring on. He yawned into the back of his hand as he walked through the Seventh Heaven and undid the lock on the door to the Rising Stones.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn never really slept. The night crew was up and about, and Alphinaud waved tiredly at Hoary and Coultenet, who waved back, as he walked past them to check the Solar. Indeed, opening the door revealed Minfilia, still awake, tidying up for the night. She glanced up at the sound of the knob turning, and smiled at him.

“I was beginning to wonder if the delegation had taken you as a prisoner of war.”

“Got caught up in cleaning up the notes,” Alphinaud admitted, and it was not even a lie—he’d needed Gaius to confirm several things about his minutes. He walked over and passed Minfilia the stack that was ciphered. “That should be everything. We must needs develop some better way to get you this information; I am worried the cipher will be obvious once Gaius grows used to my handwriting.”

Minfilia was looking at him oddly. Alphinaud blinked at her, glanced down at his shirt, where there were a few visible pinpricks of black ink. “Is something the matter?”

She held up her pencil, pointed at the side of his neck. Alphinaud reflexively clapped his hand there, and the press of two fingers into the top of his collar revealed. The problem.

He shut his eyes and grimaced. Gods damnit.

Minfilia was giggling at him. It was very rude. He dropped his hand, and realized his braid was also still out; he’d not bothered to put it back up when he was just going to have to bathe as soon as he got back. “When I said,” Minfilia at last managed, snorting behind the hand pressed in front of her mouth to try to retain some semblance of propriety, “Make him need you, I did not mean make him _need_ you.”

Alphinaud groaned aloud, rolled his eyes. “I,” he told her, “Am going to _bed_.”

Her laughter chased him back out of the Solar, along with a gay, chortling, “Yes, I bet you are!”

 _Dammit_.

**Author's Note:**

> noahfronsenburg.carrd.co


End file.
